


Holding Out

by HanginWithLilJ (FlyDizzeeD)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Car Sex, Desperation, Dom Jeremy, Fake AH Crew, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Praise Kink, Watersports, semi-public play, sub Ryan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 10:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17262401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyDizzeeD/pseuds/HanginWithLilJ
Summary: It's a simple game. All Ryan has to do is make it through the work day.The curveball is how Jeremy just keeps handing him drinks.(Loosely connected to Ridiculous Games.)





	Holding Out

Games always go too far in the Fakes’ office, the only place where they get anything done. It's nearly inevitable, at this point, that even trivial matters tend to hop off the edge and occasionally smash someone's desk. Usually Jeremy's.

He's glad to be doing the smashing this time.

He has control here. The playing field is all his, and he's one hell of a batter. So when he swings he hits, he lands what he wants, and he earns the sight he sees before him now: Ryan, sat at his own desk, trying to act casual in spite of the situation he's been stuck in for the past few hours. Jeremy throws smiles his way, fake little gestures to remind him that he's still paying attention, still attune to the rules of the game they've made for themselves.

It's a game Ryan's never played before, but one Jeremy knows well. And it isn't like other games they've played. It's not like grinding on strangers or co-workers to piss one another off to the point of rough sex in a penthouse guest room. There's more to it than that; more prep work, more rules, less people. At least, that's the goal. People shouldn't know the game is happening. It's an easier game for Ryan because he doesn't talk to people anyway. A few words to the crew here and there, but his silence and clipped responses when they're playing the game go under the radar pretty easily. Most people surmise he must be having a bad day. Other people are too scared of him to think more into it.

But there's still an element of stealth. Sure, his friends might think nothing of how quiet he gets, but they're a bit more curious when he's fidgeting and constantly rearranging his sitting position. Jack and Michael, especially, tend to notice these things. They both cast him short glances throughout the day. He ignores them. Thanks God they don't actually ask him what's wrong, and relaxes even more when Michael heads home early.

He'd rather not tell his crew members how close he is to pissing himself.

The only one who needs to know that is Jeremy, whose glances are filled with grins and glee at just how long they've been playing this game. No rules broken, no trap cards played, all running smoothly and giving him one hell of a semi.

It's a simple game. All Ryan has to do is make it through the work day. On a day like this, when they're behind on reports and other bullshit involved in running a somewhat efficient business of lawbreakers, that means eight hours. The curveball is how Jeremy just keeps handing him drinks. Water, soda, whatever it takes to make sure there's always a drink on Ryan's desk. And he could just not drink them, but the rules account for that, too. At least one drink an hour. Fine. He agreed to the terms when Jeremy defined them. He'll play by them now.

His legs bounce as he tries to focus on his computer screen. Jack looks over when his knee accidentally smacks the desk and makes it wobble a bit. He doesn't make eye contact. There are more pressing matters on his mind, like how he thinks he can feel the liquid inside him, all that soda and water. The end of the day is nearing, so he's had plenty to drink. Enough that the need to piss has been in the forefront of his mind for well over an hour. The urges come and go like waves, some strong and some just barely ripples on the surface. When a particularly strong one tears through him, he has to cross his legs. His posture has never been great, but it's worse than ever when he hunches over his desk and tenses his whole body.

The feeling hangs around for a bit. It takes its time to recede, and even when it's over, it's not really gone. It's still there, still lapping at his shores, the tide ready to raise again at a moment's notice. At a wrong move, or with another long drink.

And it's all got him chubbed up and hard in his jeans. 

Ryan isn't in control here. Hasn't been since the game started. He's uncomfortable. He's squirmy. He's in some pain, and it's all wonderful. There's a very basic part of him that is now under someone else's control. And that someone else has told him to hold it. That someone else keeps watching him, drinking in the sight of him and his obvious discomfort. That someone is Jeremy Dooley, who catches his attention and squeezes his own dick through his pants when nobody is watching but Ryan. Gives himself a few rough jerks before going back to work because he can and Ryan can't. All Ryan can do is bite his lip and pray.

Unfortunately, it seems nobody hears him. Just as he relaxes some and leans back in his chair, Jack having wandered off and Ryan having felt his body go easy on the pressure, the situation changes. A sharp pain stabs through his bladder, his dick throbs, and a short burst of pee wets his boxers. He's quick to respond. Curls right back in on himself and has no shame in the way he grabs his dick. He manages to halt the stream, but he can feel the warmth of what escaped spreading through his boxers. Moving his hand just slightly, he can at least relax a bit with the knowledge that not enough leaked to soak through his jeans. He sighs, but it's broken by the shiver that rolls down his spine.

He refuses to look up. Jeremy is watching him like a predator-- he knows that without needing to check. The younger man's stare feels like actual heat on his person. Ryan's gratefulness for Geoff being out of town is immeasurable as he sits there with both hands on his crotch.

“Need something to drink Ryan?”

He doesn't look.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You okay, Rye?”

Jeremy's voice feels like a weighted blanket for his brain. Probably not a good thing when he's still in the office, but it is what it is. It doesn't matter what the words are, either. He doesn't need to be called Jeremy's bitch to know who he is when they play like this. The younger man might sound casual, but Ryan knows. He's known since the month after Jeremy first joined the crew, just a few years ago. They were as stupid then as they are now, if not more-so. Barely knew each other before they fucked. Ryan's first words he'd ever spoken out loud to Jeremy had been a ragged slur of;

“Yes, sir.”

As the words he uttered all that time ago escape him now, a strained and quiet mumble, he gets the same response he got back then.

A hand on his jaw, pulling his face up to make eye contact non-negotiable. Jeremy's deceptively sweet smile, and his gentle praise of “Good boy, Ryan.”

He shivers. Doesn't dare to close his eyes, doesn't really want to when he can look at Jeremy's so close to his. They're good at what they do, in all manners. Good at heisting, good at killing, and good at this game. The only other person in the room is Gavin, and he's got headphones on and a history of obliviousness. He's also taken part in their games before, since they both kind of have a thing for him, so he's not a concern. All Ryan is concerned about right now is not pissing himself. 

Jeremy has a goal to keep that concern in the forefront.

“I forwarded an email from Gus to you since you know more about what he needs than I do.” He says, leaning away from Ryan. “Can you get back to him ASAP? I promised him we'd have things straight before we go home.”

Ryan looks back at his screen and sees the notification.

He nods.

Jeremy squeezes his shoulder before walking away. “Thanks, man. You're a lifesaver.”

The irony of saying that to a man like himself isn't lost on him, but he chooses not to comment on it. He's got work to do.

Work which involves letting go of his dick so he can type.

His legs are still crossed, thighs squeezing tight. As he slowly moves his hands away, he takes a few deep breaths to ground himself. The pressure seems to have lessened a bit, but he can still feel the damp cotton of his boxers clinging to his cock. The piss has gone cold by now. He sighs and switches tabs so he can read over the email. Ryan quickly realizes that Jeremy absolutely could have answered this himself. He glares between the computers and the sliver of Jeremy that he can see doesn't react. Asshole.

There are a few things he has to check first before replying, but it's nothing time consuming. He's got a solid reply going within minutes while he tries to keep his hips still, the mounting desperation building the urge to roll them. In spite of it, he feels like he's winning. The relief of hitting send is immeasurable.

The relief doesn't last long when he realizes his next challenge: leaving. Ryan sighs and turns off his computer. He finishes the last drink Jeremy brought him, chugging the half full water and trying not to think about it. Jack walks back in the room and grabs her jacket from her desk, glancing over at Ryan.

“About to head home?”

He nods.

“Same here. Penthouse?”

He shakes his head no, which the others know means he's going to his own apartment.

“Ah. Well, come by for dinner if you want. Geoff's making lasagna. See ya later, man.” She kisses his cheek. Jack has never once hesitated with him. He appreciates it and feels kinda bad that he's too focused on his bladder to return the favor. She ruffles Jeremy's hair on her way out and leaves with Gavin in tow.

Jeremy stands and stretches, back popping audibly. He looks at Ryan as he gathers his things.

“Ready to head out?”

Ryan nods, but doesn't move. He's not sure he can. There's a dam ready to break, and all he has is twigs to hold back the flood.

“Come on, man, get up. I'm dying to get home and just relax for a while.” The other man urges him. He walks over to Ryan as he puts his jacket on. His casual demeanor is kinda pissing Ryan off.

Ryan still doesn't move.

“Sooner we get home, sooner you can piss. And maybe get your reward.”

He swallows hard around the lump in his throat. Cautiously, he rolls his chair away from his desk. The muscles in his legs are quivering as he slowly stands. Once he's about halfway up, he has to stop. He doubles over, one hand grabbing the arm of his chair with white knuckles while the other flies back to his crotch like earlier. His grip is damn near painful on his own dick as he tries to stop the sudden stream of piss. It lasts a few seconds before he forces it down, cutting it off in spite of how badly he wishes he could just let go. He grimaces when he feels his hand getting wet. His eyes are shut tight, but over a decade with his job means he doesn't jump when he feels a hand on his arm. Jeremy pulls his hand off the arm of the chair and scoots it away more, then gently pulls him away from his desk.

Ryan opens his eyes so he can look at himself and assess the damage. His hand is blocking part of it, but he can see a wet patch on the front of his jeans. Thankfully it isn't too large. Still, the sight isn't a great one. He doesn't have the willpower to stop the whine that leaves his throat.

“It's fine, Ryan. You're doing great. Do you wanna go to the bathroom? I promise I won't be upset.” Jeremy reassures him, and Ryan doesn't doubt him. He's used their safeword before, and he's never been made to feel guilty about it. He bites his lip and considers the offer.

He shakes his head no.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

He looks up to see that reassuring smile.

“Good boy, Ryan. Let's go slow, and go home. You're doing great.”

The praise helps. It always does. He feels his dick twitch, and whether it's because of Jeremy's words or the wet warmth surrounding it, he doesn't know. Another whine when he humps into his own hand that's still holding himself. Once, twice, three times before he has to stop so he doesn't wreck this. His eyes are still on Jeremy, drinking in the way the younger man watches him. He looks down to see Jeremy's still hard like he had been earlier and feels some sense of accomplishment. Jeremy lets go of his arm to hold his hand instead as they make their way out of the office at a snail's pace.

He's pretty sure he needs to blow Geoff later. Geoff is the reason their office is so separate from the others, and the reason it's got a private elevator to get to the parking garage. Ryan used to think it was douchey, but now he's immeasurably grateful as he doesn't have to worry too much about anyone else seeing them. All he has to focus on is himself and maintaining the last shreds of composure he has left. Jeremy is thankfully a good sport about it.

They stop often. Ryan can only make it so far before he has to stop and ground himself, force his body to do what he wants it to do. Jeremy is feeding him praise as they go. It helps in some ways, but doesn't in others. He's already hard as fuck and the steady stream of 'good boy, Ryan’ and 'very nice, Ryan’ is just making that worse. The whole situation has him damn near ready to collapse when they finally make it to the elevator. As soon as the doors close behind them and Jeremy pushes the button for the garage, he shoves himself into the other man's space. 

He leans heavily into Jeremy, face pressed into his hair. Jeremy hugs him, hands rubbing up and down his sides in soothing repetition.

“Jeremy.”

“I know. We're almost there. You're amazing, Ryan.”

“Please.”

“Soon.”

Ryan kinda wants to scream, but he holds that in. Instead he whimpers and moves Jeremy's hand to his crotch. He's rewarded with the way that makes the other's breath hitch, so he grinds into the new pressure a bit. Jeremy moves Ryan's hand out of the way so he can squeeze his dick.

“This gross shit really gets you going, huh?”

He rolls his hips as he nods. Jeremy clicks his tongue, then lets go and steps away all at once when he hears the elevator ding. The sudden move makes Ryan lose himself a bit too much. Another jet of piss wets his jeans before he can stop it. He's frozen for a moment, takes a second to get his bearings and replace the hand Jeremy had taken away. The strong stream makes piss soak through the spaces between his fingers, coating his hand. Ryan mumbles a stream of curses as he gets ahold of himself. He looks up to see Jeremy standing in the doorway of the elevator, hand over the edge to keep the doors from closing on him. He regards Ryan with a look of impatience.

“Car's this way.”

Now more than ever, Ryan is doubting himself. He's doubting his self-control, and doubting his body. He can't do this. It's too far. The ride home is too long. But he's committed. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Focuses his energy on the task at hand, on following Jeremy's rules and playing their game.

He follows a few steps behind. Jeremy is whistling as they walk, and if Ryan wasn't in his current state, he's sure he'd be teasing him for it being a Linkin Park song or some shit. Instead, he simply doesn't care. Priorities. He's pretty sure he connects with God when he finally spots his Zentorno. Before Jeremy can ask, Ryan pulls out his keys and tosses them over. Ignores the shark-like grin Jeremy tosses back. The car chirps and purrs to life as Jeremy uses the fob to unlock it and hit the remote start. The sleek black and green car makes Ryan pause for just a moment. He's still not over just how nice it is. He shakes his head and opens the passenger door, sliding into the clean leather seat.

Barely managing to get the door closed and his seatbelt on, Ryan doubles over in the seat like he had been at his desk. His body is shaking slightly. He hears the other door close as Jeremy gets in, too. He and Jack are the only ones Ryan lets drive his vehicles, so Jeremy is familiar with the car, even though he doesn't have one of his own.

Ryan's voice is barely audible over the engine. “Please hurry.”

“Sure thing, babe.”

Boy does he regret that.

The fast driving saves time, but Jeremy isn't a renowned racer. It's jerky and the turns are hard in spite of how well the car handles. Ryan's eyes are wide as he squirms and stares at the dashboard. They're almost there. He knows this route without having to look. The feel of the harsh turns are enough for him to know where he is, and to know they're probably blowing light after light. He doesn't really give a shit.

Two more turns. Just two more, he's sure of it. An intersection, then a back alley, and they'll finally be at his apartment. He's sweating at the exertion of keeping himself together.

Then the car comes screeching to a halt.

Some part of him is impressed by the brakes of the Zentorno. They don't fishtail, they don't take forever to stop, they don't roll. What does happen is they stop, but gravity doesn't give a shit, so they both lurch forward in their seats. The seatbelts keep them from smashing their heads on the wheel or the dash, but the sudden and terrifying change accomplishes a goal regardless.

“Holy-- Ryan! Are you okay!? That asshole just-- oh my God.”

Jeremy goes silent, but Ryan barely hears him regardless. He's zoned out as he loses it entirely. Tremors roll through his body while the dam breaks. Warmth spreads through his pants and pools in the seat underneath him, piss dripping off the edges and onto the floorboards of the expensive car. He slowly leans back and lets go of his crotch, hands left flat on top of his thighs while he watches the wet patch spread over his jeans. The stream is audible in the otherwise silent space. It's suddenly cut off, but the damage is done. His pants are a lost cause, and his leather seat is a puddle. They're both shocked out of the moment by a horn blaring behind them.

Fumbling a bit, Jeremy starts to drive again. He's no longer speeding like a maniac and he keeps glancing over at Ryan, but he doesn't say a word. They make it back to the apartment in no time, the rumble of the engine dying as Jeremy puts the car in park and shuts it off. A few moments pass, neither speaking, before Ryan moves. He reaches for his crotch with shaking hands.

“Ryan.” Jeremy says, voice quiet. “Are you okay? I didn't mean to…”

He trails off when Ryan unbuttons his soaked jeans and pulls down the zipper, revealing his boxers that used to be light grey, but are now a darker shade from the wetness. He slowly pulls them down and pulls out his dick, hard and shiny with piss. Without looking up, Ryan point his dick back at his chest and relaxes. Jeremy chokes on air when an arc of piss shoots out of his dick, hitting his shirt. The material is drenched in a matter of seconds as Ryan aims his cock around to thoroughly wet the front of it, streams of gold running down his sides and landing on the seat. He strokes himself as the stream slowly dies out. His t-shirt clings to his chest and stomach once he's finished.

Only then does he look up. It takes Jeremy a second to peel his eyes away from the sight to meet Ryan's. When he does, he's immediately left breathless. Ryan's face is red and tear streaked, but so blessed out he's not sure how the man can function. He lunges, but the seat belt catches him. His hands scramble to undo it and he lunges again as soon as he's free, sliding over the console and into Ryan's soaked lap. It's a tight fit in a sports car like this, but he doesn't care.

“You,” he kisses Ryan's neck, “are perfect.”

“You,” he starts to pump his wet cock, “are wonderful.”

“You,” he touches their foreheads together, “are a very good boy, Ryan Haywood.”

And for a man that's been on edge all day, that's all it takes. Ryan cums hard after just a few quick strokes, his cum joining the mess on his shirt. His breathing is fast and his vision blacks out as he tumbles over the edge, soaking in every drop of Jeremy and losing the game. When he comes to, eyes focusing as his brain starts to work again, he looks at the younger man's smile and feels like he's made of soft and simple things.

“Let's get you inside before you crash on me.” Jeremy says, chuckling. “How does a bath sound?”

Ryan smiles. He's pretty sure he's the real winner here.

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom needs more piss.


End file.
